Nicole's Writings

Assateague & Chincoteague Islands in the summer of 2003

 

On a strange island

37 miles long

ponies run wild

the sun sets red

air smells of salt water–

it’s home to you.

 

First time I saw you

on a sandy island,

hand in my hand by water’s

edge. Waited long

as a lifetime to meet. You in your red

shirt drove me wild,

 

Wind whipping my long hair wild.

Looking up at you,

your hair kissed red.

On a warm island,

asked if I’d like to come along

into the water.

 

You held me above the deep water,

I’m smaller, and waves get wild.

Longing

to get closer to you

on a barrier island

In my red

 

Bikini. Had you read

my mind with your water

color eyes? Its sister island–

with people not ponies, was less wild.

And you,

just a tiny speck, on the 7 mile long,

 

by 2 mile strip. Didn’t take long

to notice my shirt was red

too. You

noticed. By the water

making wild

memories on a quiet island.

 

Tides of the moon speak to the water

currents. I was wild

by your pull that summer on the islands.

 

By Nicole Ciarapica

Spring 2009

For Mom

On October 9, 2000, my mother had a massive heart attack and was lost twice on the operating table. But she survived.

Your heart stopped beating

in a heavy moment,

on an autumn evening,

brown curls sank to your desk.

 

In a heavy moment,

a hospital “Code Blue!”

Brown curls sank to a pillow,

prayer chains pled for you.

 

A hospital “Code Blue!”

Far away in a dark tunnel,

Prayer chains pled for you,

You didn’t listen as doctors yelled “Clear!”

 

Far away in a bright tunnel,

feeling things for the first time,

you listened as doctors yelled “Clear!”

You fought to live.

 

Seeing things for the first time,

what’s stronger than a mother’s love?

You fought to live,

eternity to you, minutes to us.

 

What’s stronger than your love?

On an autumn evening,

eternity to you, minutes to us,

your heart stopped beating.

 

By Nicole Ciarapica

Spring 2009

Oily Water

All that glitters is not gold,

you were wandering lost,

young and free,

a leaf swaying in the wind.

Steady and serious,

deep rooted in rules,

but I did break one–

mixed oil and water.

 

But you’re the ying

and I’m the yang,

you brighten the colors,

I’ll keep them from blending.

You straighten up

and I’ll lighten up,

teach me how to fly,

I’ll make sure we land safely.

 

By Nicole Ciarapica

Spring 2009

 

Imitation of:

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter

JRR Tolkien

 

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

Spring Fling

A new kind of religion, a marriage.

I’m partnered with my planner,

Papers and projects in the baby carriage.

She carries on forever in that manner–

“Write, check, highlight me, please,

Redo, edit, and of course extra credit,

Remember procrastination is a disease.”

Wishing for a seventh day of rest– forget it.

I flip through her pages faster than the secondhand,

January, February, March, April, May,

It’s only Monday? Well I’ll be damned.

Let it be Friday, I pray and pray,

Cross out “Sonnet”, what’s in my bible now?

“Sleep”– What’s that? I’ve forgotten how.

 

By Nicole Ciarapica

Spring 2009